


Three Tattoos

by greensweater



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Artist Dan, Awkward Flirting, Bad Flirting, Eventual Relationships, Feels, Fluff and Humor, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Meet-Cute, Phanfiction, Plantboy Phil, Ridiculous, Romantic Friendship, Secrets, Shy Dan, Tattoo Artist Dan, Teacher Phil, Warm and Fuzzy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-06
Updated: 2016-11-20
Packaged: 2018-08-29 12:02:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8488711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greensweater/pseuds/greensweater
Summary: When a talkative, blue-eyed boy named Phil Lester walks into Dan Howell's tattoo parlor one dusky autumn afternoon, Dan isn't sure what to make of him. But when Phil keeps coming back, their one-time connection grows into friendship, and eventually, something more.





	1. A Fucking Cactus

It was 6:00 pm, the same time the shadows lengthened and the air grew musty and heavy with the weight of late August nights. The days were quickening, as autumn tapped impatiently at the door, and Dan found himself leaving earlier and earlier each day to beat the creeping fingers of night. It was 6:00 pm, and Dan’s fingers idly rubbed against the keys in his front pocket, hands jammed in to prevent the encroaching chill in the air. He exhaled, a long stream of air hissing between his front teeth, and wondered how long he’d have to wait for this customer to pick their _bloody design_. 

“I actually--I don’t think I want a tattoo,” said the mousy woman, closing the binder and twisting her thin hands together. “I’m really sorry for taking all this time--I just wasn’t sure, you know?” She smiled up at him hesitantly, seeming genuinely apologetic.

An involuntary smile came over his face at the sight of hers. “Yeah. Don’t want to make a mistake.”

The woman gestured to Dan’s exposed arm, heavily inked and colored. “Were any of those mistakes?”

He considered this for a moment, then shook his head firmly. “I wouldn’t say they were, no. But tattoos aren’t for everyone. Mine, they have a special meaning, each one of them. The biggest mistake you can make with tattoos is to get one just for the sake of it. It has to _mean_ something.”

She nodded, a serious expression on her face as if his words had given her some big epiphany. Dan felt a bit uncomfortable.

“Thanks for tolerating me,” she breathed, slowly hoisting her bag over her shoulder. 

“No problem,” he said cheerfully, waving her out of the store. “Come back sometime, if you ever decide you want a tattoo.”

“Will do!” she called back, and the door swung shut behind her.

_Finally_ , Dan thought, getting up from his chair and stretching out his stiff legs. The shop was quiet, almost _too_ quiet; Dan prefered large, bustling crowds filling up the waiting area and boisterously discussing tattoos, his favorite topic. The vanilla-scented candle he kept on the counter was burning out. He reached over and snuffed it out with a pinch of his fingers, wincing at the brief flash of pain. The smoke wafted up in a dance of grey, twisting and whispering away into the atmosphere. Dan watched it for a moment, finding it quite beautiful and thinking that maybe he’d use the image for a design.

The bell tinkled as a customer walked in and Dan closed his eyes, cursing himself for not closing up.

“You still open?” 

He turned around and offered his best smile. “Well, I can’t really turn you away, now can I?” Oof. He cringed. That had come out a bit sharp. 

The boy standing there didn’t seem to mind. “Maybe you could.” He grinned, a smile that crinkled up his entire face. “But I don’t think you would.”

Dan sighed and ushered him into the shop. “You may be right about that one.”

The boy walked over to the book of designs and began to flip idly. Dan stood impatiently tapping his foot, waiting for the boy to just fucking leave so he could go home.

“So…” he prompted the customer, “Are you going to pick one, or what? I’m about to close up. And, ah, you’ll have to come back later so I can actually _do_ the tattoo. It takes a few hours, you know. Unless-- _God_ , don’t tell me you’re one of those freaks who wants a tat on his dick, or his arse, because let me tell you now, I do _not_ handle that. I always tell those blokes, 'go to Onion's for that shit, you kinky bastards.' ”

He stopped his tirade, because the boy was… he was laughing? Dan frowned, because he was tired, and the sky’s edges slowly darkened with each passing moment, and he just wanted this boy to get out of his shop. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said after a few giggles. “I just want to make an appointment for tomorrow.”

“Well, you could have _said_ that,” Dan muttered darkly, crossing his arms but not even feeling particularly angry at this point; he just wanted to go home.

“At 4:00?” the boy asked.

“Sure.”

The boy wiped his hands on his jeans, which clung to his legs _very_ well, as Dan couldn’t help but notice. “Excellent. Mark me down as Phil Lester, tattoo at 4:00. See you tomorrow.” 

As he walked past Dan on his way to the door, he stopped and said, “By the way, your designs are beautiful.” And then he was gone, leaving behind the slightest whiff of smoke and faint jingling of the bell on the door.

“God,” Dan mumbled, but he wasn’t angry, really; just slightly annoyed and _very_ anticipatory of his appointment with Phil the next day. The boy intrigued him. (And he kind of wanted to see what tattoo Phil would choose.)

 

…

 

He came at 4:00 sharp. Right on the nose.

“Remember me?”

Dan snorted. “Do I. What can I do for you today?” 

“I want a tattoo.”

“Well, obviously. I would hope you’re not just here to bother me.”

Phil grinned, his face creasing. “That would be a shame, wouldn’t it?”

Dan didn’t bother answering. He sighed, motioning Phil over. The parlor was in a bit of a customer lull at the moment, so he didn’t need to call one of his employees to assist him.

“What’ll it be?”

Phil considered for a moment, eyes flicking up to the ceiling and then back down, intense on Dan’s.

“I want a cactus.”

For a second, Dan thought he’d heard wrong. 

“A _cactus_?”

“Yes,” said Phil, steady and serious. “I would like a cactus.”

Dan cleared his throat, trying to keep from smiling. A fucking _cactus_? That wasn’t quite what he’d expected Phil to say, but a cactus would be a nice change from the countless crosses, dragons, and flowers he drew countless times every day. A fucking cactus, indeed.

“You would," he muttered. "Okay. Where do you want it? What do you want it to look like? I need more details.”

Phil pointed to his forearm. “Here. And I have a picture.” He typed on his phone, pulling up a picture of a simple, boring cactus in a planter.

“Oh. Alright, sit down and I’ll be with you shortly.”

Phil obediently sat, and Dan drew the design, glancing occasionally at the picture on Phil’s phone.

_Ping_! Phil’s phone went off with a text notification. It wasn’t any of his business, but he couldn’t help seeing the preview that slid down, couldn’t help seeing the words _Phil, where are you? Come to the…_ and the message cut off. It was from “Mum.” Dan tore his eyes away, not wanting to pry into a client’s personal life.

“Done,” he announced, handing Phil’s phone back and gathering his supplies. “This’ll take about a half hour.”

Phil smiled up at him cheerily. “Wonderful.”

The thirty minutes flew by. As Dan inked, Phil chattered. He was _smart_. When talking to people, Dan usually felt awkward, out of place; but conversation with Phil flowed as naturally as breathing.

“…So then I told him, ‘Fuck off, Nigel! I’m never stealing a pig with you while dressed in drag ever again.”

Dan actually had to stop tattooing for a moment, since Phil’s body shook so much from laughter that it could potentially ruin the tattoo. Or cause bodily harm. His own cheeks hurt from grinning.

“That story,” gasped Phil, “was the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“It really was ridiculous, wasn’t it?”

Phil’s phone _dinged_ again, then again. 

“Do you need to--” Dan nodded towards the phone, “Get that?”

The laughter faded from Phil’s eyes, something grimmer taking its place. “No. No, I’ll deal with—I’ll get it later.”

Dan decided he didn’t know Phil well enough to press the issue.

“And you’re done.”

“Wow. It’s—this is good, Dan. Really good.”

Dan shrugged, secretly aglow from the praise. “It’s my job.”

“Yeah, but—” Phil locked eyes with him, and Dan’s heart faltered. “It’s good.”

God, his eyes really were _blue_ , weren’t they? Those eyes stared at him while Phil paid, barely looking away.

“Unfortunately, I’ve got to go. Thank you for the amazing tattoo, Dan.”

“Oh. Yeah, I suppose you do.”

Dan mentally smacked himself. _Stop acting like a jilted lover, Howell. He’s a customer, nothing more. Just a hot, blue-eyed customer with legs of a goddess--_

“Well,” he blurted, brain screaming at him to _shut up, shut up, shut UP_ , “If you ever want another tattoo—”

“I’ll definitely come back if the urge takes me,” said Phil, smiling at him as if he could _see_ the inner battle taking place in Dan’s mind.

“Have a nice day!”

“You too, Dan.”

The moment Phil left, Dan banged his forehead against the glass. “Stupid,” he mumbled, “ _Stupid_ \--”

“Hello?”

He shot up so fast it was a wonder his neck didn’t snap in two.

“HowcanIhelpyou?”

The girl in front of the desk snapped her gum, looking up at him with bored, black-lined eyes.

“Can I get a tat?”

“Yeah,” Dan said. “Yes, you can get a tattoo.”

Phil Lester lurked in the back of his mind all day.


	2. I Proclaim That Man a Tease

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This time, it's a seagull. Dan has never been more nonplussed, or more intrigued.

Dan chewed on a nail, actively _not_ looking at the door, through which Phil Lester had walked exactly one week ago.

“Excuse me, Mr—” The mousy woman squinted at him. “Howell, was it?”

“Oh yeah, I remember you. Welcome back. You’re thinking of a tattoo again, I presume?”

The woman half-smiled. “Not—not actively. Just looking.”

He shrugged. “Alright, take your time.”

She flipped through his book of designs while he finished a specialized design for a customer. The atmosphere was quite calming, actually; the comforting _flap_ of laminated paper combining with the scratching of pen and light British alt rock playing over the speakers.

 _Ding_!

Dan set his supplies aside and casually looked up to see Phil entering the shop. His smile was a little less sunny than it had been the previous week, while still brighter than it had any right to be.

“Mr. Howell?”

“Dan,” he told her distractedly, watching Phil approach the counter out of the corner of his eye.

“Dan, then—I was wondering, how much would a word be? Just a few letters in a nice font, nothing fancy or huge.”

“About 50 pounds, give or take. Depends on whether you want a custom tattoo.”

“Well, I’m still considering.” She paused, shaking her head and sighing. “God, I really do keep wasting your time, don’t I? I’m so sorry.”

Phil stood behind her, patiently waiting.

“No—no, it’s totally fine. Take your time,” he said, and he meant it. Kind of. “Have a nice day. Good to see you again.”

“Bye.” The woman smiled toothily, gave him a small wave, and walked briskly out of the parlor. He realized he didn’t even know her name.

But then there was Phil in front of him, amused blue eyes staring into his.

“Does she come here often? Scope out the local tattoo parlors?”

Dan couldn’t prevent the smile sneaking its way onto his face. 

“Nope. Only seen her once before. And, if I may ask, what’re you doing here?”

Phil put a hand to his chest in mock offence. “What do you think? I’m getting another tattoo, of course. I didn’t come here just to talk to you.”

“So that was only part of the reason, then,” Dan joked, butterflies stirring in his stomach. “I’m the incentive.”

“You are,” said Phil softly, eyes flicking down and then back to Dan’s face, which almost definitely had turned a shade that tomatoes would be jealous of. 

God.

“So,” Dan coughed awkwardly. “What can I do for you today?”

Phil’s face seemed to close off, previous vulnerabilities gone. 

“Tattoo. A seagull this time.”

“A _seagull_?” laughed Dan incredulously. “A cactus I can accept, but a seagull? They’re basically winged rats.”

“I like them,” Phil said defensively, looking rather hurt. “They’re cool.”

Dan rolled his eyes, grinning unabashedly. “Whatever, you absolute spork. Sit down.”

“Spork?” asked Phil curiously as he sat down.

The tips of Dan’s ears began to burn. “Sorry. Just kind of… came out.”

Phil smirked. “The word ‘spork’ sounds inherently like an endearment, Dan Howell. Were you, perhaps… endearing me?”

“Enduring you, sure. Endearing you?” Dan scrunched up his face and pretended to think. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that one.”

“Is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

Phil’s voice had gone low and husky, and _God_. Dan didn’t want to know how red his face was at that moment.

He swallowed. “Um, I’m going to grab my—”

Dan fled to the back room and collapsed on a chair.

Flirting was apparently happening now, and he _liked_ it, he _liked_ Phil and even had a bit of a crush on him, but… he’d never really been with anyone before. Throughout his life, people liked him and he liked people, but it never got beyond casual sex and he’d _never_ dated a customer. Or been with a boy. 

And he was afraid that Phil did this every day, to everyone.

He probably wasn’t that special. 

So it was okay, right? To flirt with Phil, to have a crush on him. 

_Quit it, Howell,_ he told himself firmly. _You deserve a little fun, even though it’ll never amount to anything serious._

He nodded decisively, grabbing a handful of supplies and hastily making his way back to the front, where Phil waited.

“Are you okay?” 

Dan took a deep breath and smiled. “Yeah, of course.”

On the counter, Phil’s phone buzzed, three times in a row. With each notification, Phil’s face fell a little more.

“Are _you_ okay?”

Phil seemed to make a conscious effort to smile again. “Peachy.”

Dan supposed that they both hid secrets.

 

…

The vanilla smoke twined around the parlor as they talked, midafternoon London light spilling through the windows and illuminating everything.

“I’ve never had a best friend before,” Dan confessed, squinting at the detailing on the seagull’s wings. He tried to ignore the softness of Phil’s upper arm, focusing instead on drawing.

“Really? Never?”

“I’ve had friends, though,” he demurred, feeling his face burn. “But never someone who I’d call a ‘best friend.’”

“Wow,” said Phil. “I’ve had the same best friend since—Year Three, I think. I can’t even imagine never having met her.”

“What’s her name?” Dan asked casually, but not _too_ casually. Didn’t people often refer to their spouses as their “best friends?” Maybe Phil wasn’t flirting with him; maybe he had a fucking _wife_ to go back to.

“Anna,” he said, but his voice had changed into something soft, painful. Different.

Phil cleared his throat. “Sorry,” he said roughly. “Sorry.”

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Phil piped with false cheer, “So! Tell me awkward stories from your school days.”

“God, you don’t even want to _know_ ,” Dan replied, and everything sort of progressed from that point into:

“You have really blue eyes, Phil,” he blurted, and then internally facepalmed. If he hadn’t been holding a potentially dangerous instrument, he really would have hit himself in the face.

But Phil merely smiled and replied, “You have really brown eyes.”

 _Fuck_.

Dan had a mental image of himself sinking ever deeper into a pit of quicksand, a sign saying “Phil Lester” next to it.

And then Phil’s face was inches from his own and all he could see was the ocean. In his chest, his heart began to thump almost painfully.

“Bye, Dan. Nice seeing you again,” murmured Phil, eyes flicking to Dan’s lips and then up again.

“Um,” Dan said helplessly, because his bones felt like rubber and everything was happening too fast for him to comprehend.

Phil just smiled, trailed a hand down Dan’s arm, and left.

Dan rubbed his arm, feeling goosebumps erupt, literal _chills_ running down his back. This didn't happen in real life, right? This was too ridiculous to actually be happening. “Fuck,” he said softly.

 _Not fair, Lester. Not fair at all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter left! Leave kudos and comment if you enjoyed.--xx shippingslut


	3. The Absurdly Heavy-handed Symbolism of Vanilla Smoke Finally Plays a Part

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you all right? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in a while.”
> 
> Phil gave a rueful laugh. “That’s because I haven’t. I’ve been up late at the—the office.”
> 
> The split second of hesitation made Dan chew the inside of his cheek, distress inadvertently blooming in his gut. Dan didn’t make friends easily, but Phil, in three short weeks, had somehow managed to gain his trust and loyalty. And when you were Dan Howell’s friend, he worried about you.
> 
>  
> 
> Soundtrack for this chapter: Muse's "Undisclosed Desires" and the Beatles' "I Wanna Hold Your Hand"

This time, he didn’t look up as Phil entered the shop.

“Hello, Dan,” he heard the low, Northern sounding voice say, and a quiet smile spread over his face.

“Back again, are you, Phil?”

“Suppose I am.”

Dan finally looked up at Phil’s face. There were new lines around his mouth, and his eyes were shadowed and dark with exhaustion. His cheerful demeanor distracted from those worrying signs, but Dan still asked.

“Are you all right? No offense, but you look like you haven’t slept in a while.”

Phil gave a rueful laugh. “That’s because I haven’t. I’ve been up late at the—the office.”

The split second of hesitation made Dan chew the inside of his cheek, distress inadvertently blooming in his gut. Dan didn’t make friends easily, but Phil, in three short weeks, had somehow managed to gain his trust and loyalty. And when you were Dan Howell’s friend, he worried about you.

“Well,” Dan said carefully. “If you ever want to talk… Okay, that’s weird. I’m not, like, a therapist or whatever. Anyway. I’m here for you, is what I’m saying—alright, that sounds creepy too. I’ll stop.”

Phil giggled slightly, which made his humiliation almost worth it.

“I’m fine. But thanks. Honestly, I think… we’re friends. Right? I mean, you injected ink into my veins. That has to count for something.”

“That’s not how tattooing _works_!”

Phil put his hands over his face. “I’m sorry! Don’t kill me!”

Dan rolled his eyes. “So, what do you want this week?”

“Surprise me,” Phil said, smile softening. “Give me something beautiful.”

_Beautiful._

Dan thought of the ocean. He thought of a raven’s crisp movement through the air. But vanilla smoke wreathed around them and he knew what to draw.

“Something beautiful,” he repeated, looking at the ceiling in speculation. “I can do that.”

“Thank you,” Phil said, and there was something else behind those two simple words, something deep and meaningful enough to inspire a song.

“No problem.” His voice cracked, and he blushed all the way through getting his supplies.

“Do you never have any other appointments?” Phil asked. “You’re always free when I come in.”

Dan shrugged sheepishly. “You always come in at the exact same time, so… I clear a slot.”

“Oh,” Phil said softly. “Oh.”

They sat in silence for a few moments while Dan designed, and it didn’t feel so much _awkward_ as it did anticipatory.

“Finished.”

“Can I see?” Phil asked.

“I thought you meant it to be a surprise,” teased Dan. 

Phil rolled his eyes in amusement. “Okay, keep it to yourself. Just… please not a dick. My mum would kill me.”

God, he was so cute.

“No dicks,” Dan promised.

He got to work, hands deftly moving, while Phil chattered on and on about the shy new kid in the Year One class he taught, shared his thoughts on polar bears, and _blatantly_ eyefucked Dan.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Dan eventually asked, flustered after almost severely injuring himself. “It’s distracting.”

“Like what?”

“Like… I don’t know,” Dan sputtered, heart pounding and face heating. “Like—like you’re about to kiss me,” he said jokingly, but a deep crimson flush started to creep up Phil’s neck, his eyes lowering.

“Oh,” breathed Dan quietly, setting his supplies down. He leaned in, microscopically closer.

Phil moved back, just slightly.

“Dan, hold on.”

Disappointment flooded through him, the acid sting of humiliation filling his lungs.

“Listen,” Phil said quietly. “I don’t want to lead you on—or hurt you in any way—but I need to tell you something.”

 _It’s been nice, but it’s over, kid,_ Dan told himself. _Prepare to be violently rejected, but in a nice way, which is always the absolute worst_.

Phil’s eyes caught Dan’s and Dan winced at how much pain he saw in the blue-green depths.

“My best friend, Anna,” Phil began. “She’s been wild her entire life. As kids, she’d always be the one to break a bone and I’d be the one to carry her home. Or to my home. Our families are, uh, very close. And, yeah, I’ve been carrying her home my entire adult life, too. Except,” he swallowed hard, “except this time it wasn’t just a broken arm. I found her in her apartment, one night; she’d drunkenly fallen down the stairs and hit her head really hard. I called the ambulance and they tried to revive her, but—her brain had been affected. She woke up and she was… different, I guess. Didn’t remember me at first. A lot of other stuff.”

“Oh my God,” Dan whispered, horrified.

“I went with our families and visited her once a week for about a month while she recuperated, but after a while I couldn’t take it anymore. She’d stare through me, laugh about nothing, get confused, then get angry and lash out because she couldn’t remember. It was… heartbreaking. I went to see her about three weeks ago, and she was just _mad_. So, so pissed. I had to leave and take a walk. So that’s when I stumbled upon your shop. I saw,” he laughed, “I saw you sitting behind the counter, drawing, and you had such a-- _cute_ expression. I went in, on a whim, just to see what you were like. Getting a tattoo was never on my agenda, but I kept coming back, every week. I needed these breaks from reality, needed someone who didn’t know about Anna, needed, well— _you_.”

Phil stopped to draw a shaky breath.

“I feel like I’ve been using you,” he confided. “It’s not fair to you, and I’m sorry. You’re a wonderful person, and I wish—” He broke off, eyes red. “I—I understand if you don’t want to see me again.”

Dan’s skin felt itchy and too small. His veins thrummed with sorrow. “God, Phil, if you think I’d do that—or that I _care_ …” He rubbed a hand over his face, pushing his hair back from his forehead. “I really like you, okay? And you weren’t ‘using me.’” He scoffed. “If anything, I was using you.”

Phil tried to interrupt, but Dan shook his head.

“I’ve never—had feelings like this before. For anyone. You flirted with me and I thought that was all it was but then I started thinking about you all the time—you’re the ink in my fucking pen, okay?” he burst out, then half-laughed and covered his face. “And now I’ve messed it up by going too fast and too deep and oh my _God_ that pen metaphor was terrible—”

 _There goes your chance to not fuck everything up, Howell. Nice one_.

“Dan,” Phil cut in, and Dan looked up, heartbeat filling his ears with drums. 

“This tattoo is lovely.”

For a moment, Dan thought he’d misheard. 

“What?”

Phil motioned to his collarbone. “It’s lovely. The tattoo.” His blue eyes darted nervously to Dan’s face. “I just noticed that you finished it.”

The hand gently pinching out a candle wick, delicate smoke curling up and around it. Something beautiful.

“Th-thanks,” stammered Dan, a tangle of nervousness, pride, and terrible hope alighting inside him. “I’m glad you liked it and didn’t immediately call your lawyer to file an impending lawsuit.”

Phil laughed, and that alone eased the tension out of Dan’s shoulders.

“Hey,” he said, getting up from the chair and slapping a wad of pounds on the counter. “I’ll be back. Count on it.”

He went back over to where Dan shakily gathered his supplies, hesitated, and then kissed him on the forehead.

“Bye,” he whispered, then turned and hurried away.

Dan still sat, stunned, while Phil’s brisk footsteps grew fainter until the door shut with a clatter.

His forehead literally burned where Phil’s soft lips had touched.

The minutes ticked by while Dan just sat there exhausted, confused, and emotionally traumatized.

“What the fuck?” he finally asked himself, fingernails biting into his palms. “What the _fuck_ just happened?”

“Um, I dunno, but I’ve finally decided on my tattoo,” spoke a small voice from the front of the shop. The mousy woman had returned.

“Yeah,” he said grumpily. “Okay.”

Dan got up, stretched, and went to the counter where the mousy woman shrank at the sight of him. He supposed he did look rather terrifying, and felt a bit guilty.

“Here,” she squeaked, pushing a crumpled piece of paper at him. “Can I have this tattooed, please?”

The word was a bit difficult to decipher, but he eventually made it out. _Miss Ivory_. 

“Can you do it today?” she asked. 

He frowned. “I don’t think so.” Slipping back into professionalism, he checked his appointment schedule. “You can make an appointment for tomorrow, if you want.”

She shrugged, flipping aside the wavy brown hair that barely brushed her shoulders. “All right. Eleven?”

“Sounds fine to me.” Dan finally mustered a grin. “Hang on, what’s your name? I’ve been meaning to ask you.”

The woman gave him a small smile. “Astrid,” she said. “Astrid Melanie Pitch.”

“That’s actually a _brilliant_ name,” he told her. “Like something out of a book.”

Astrid shyly looked at her boots. “Thank you.”

“Well, I’ll see you tomorrow at eleven sharp, Astrid.”

“See you, Dan.”

She left, waving a small hand behind her in farewell.

Dan allowed himself to slump against the wall, taking a deep breath and letting his head rest against the wall.

“Yikes,” he said ironically to himself. “That was a day.”

He closed his eyes, and that was when the shop door opened and the heavy thump of someone’s running feet burst into the shop.

 _Probably Astrid_ , he told himself. _Forgot her keys, or something_.

“Dan,” Phil’s voice cut through him like a knife and his eyes snapped open, almost falling over in his haste to stand up straight.

“Phil, why are you—”

Phil strode around the counter and took Dan’s hands in his own warm, large ones.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, standing close enough that Dan could feel Phil’s breath against his face. “I just really needed to come back and—oh God I truly am the most awkward person on the face of this Earth but I had to come back here and kiss you.” Phil paused, and in that moment, Dan could feel something inside him twist and splinter in the best way it could. “Can I? I mean, could I? If you’d have me?”

“Yes,” he choked, and suddenly Phil’s mouth was on his.

The stars imploded. 

Dan felt Phil’s arms pulling him closer, as close as their bodies would let them. As Phil did things with his tongue that made goosebumps prickle on Dan’s arms, he stroked Phil’s soft cheek, tangled his fingers in sleek hair. Their bodies fit together, melting in a way Dan thought only existed in books, and he shut his eyes tighter, reveling in the sensations ripping their way through him. He nipped at Phil’s bottom lip, satisfaction blooming within him upon hearing Phil’s hitched sigh against his mouth. 

After a while, they broke apart. Phil was panting, hair mussed and lips swollen. Dan supposed he didn’t look much different.

“Okay,” Dan began. “That happened.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t you dare fucking apologize. I haven’t had that good of a makeout session with anyone in—well, ever, really.”

Phil grinned. “You’re welcome.”

“What made you decide to come back?” he asked, softer now, coming down from the adrenaline rush. “I thought you left.”

“Funny story. I walked around the mall for a while, then realized that all I was thinking about was you and it drove me crazy. So I _had_ to come back. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Dan echoed. “So… what now?”

Phil looked bashfully up at him, face reddening. “Dinner tonight?”

Would his heart _calm the fuck down_?

“Yeah,” he murmured, taking a deep, happy breath. “Let’s do it, you spork.”

“Pizza and chocolate cake at my place, yeah?”

“Aw, you remembered! I fucking love you.”

They laced hands and talked for a long time while vanilla smoke wafted out of the shop, fading into the warm August twilight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is the end. Hope you liked it! Always a hoe for some heavy-handed symbolism and botched metaphors. Leave some comments and kudos if you enjoyed the overuse of the words "breathed" and "mousy." --xx shippingslut

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Please leave comments and give kudos if you enjoyed this story!


End file.
